Impossible Girl
by thatgirlinredandgold
Summary: The Doctor is a lonely god, a prize that the king of Hell seems determined to acquire. But how does one catch the Doctor? It's simple actually; you take the one thing in the universe he would do anything to protect. You steal his impossible girl.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello again friends, it's been awhile. I've neglected a lot of my stories on here due to any number of excuses; lack of inspiration, motivation, time. But no more. I've decided to make my return to fanfiction with a story that's been brewing in my head for quite some time, and I'm excited to get started. I've never attempted Supernatural fanfiction before, so we'll see how it goes. If for any reason you feel I'm not doing these characters justice and I am making them OOC, please don't hesitate to tell me. I'm trying my hardest to make this as realistic as possible. For context this story is set post Name of the Doctor for Clara and mid season 6 for the Winchesters. **

She woke suddenly with a sharp intake of breath, two large green eyes staring back at her. Disorientated and confused, she wanted nothing more than to scream. Where was she? What had happened? And who was this man that was tugging frantically at the ropes wrapped tightly around her wrists. Her head was pounding, making clear thought almost impossible. She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a barely audible groan. It _hurt._ Everything hurt and she had no idea why.

"You'll be fine, I promise. We'll get you out of here." The man told her, his voice much lower than she had anticipated.

Her brown eyes were round with a deep and all consuming fear. "I don't know where I am." She whispered, almost pleading with the man, but for what she didn't know. "Help me, please. I don't know where I am." The words seemed to stir something inside her chest, but the feeling was gone as soon as it had come.

"We'll get you out of here." He repeated and finally the ropes fell free from her wrists. "Can you walk?" He looked her up and down, examining the extent of her injuries. "Right. Stupid question."

"Dean, we have to go. Now." A second man had appeared from behind the chair she had been strapped to, hand grasping a bloody blade as if it were a lifeline.

The first man wasted no time in picking up her petite frame and carrying her bridal style over to the newcomer, and through the doorway she saw them. Several bodies lying on the ground, blood pooling around each person. They were dead. She may have been utterly confused of her whereabouts, her head pounding out a constant rhythm, but she was still able to put two and two together. The blood soaked knife, the bodies; these men were murderers. Suddenly those two green eyes didn't seem to belong to her savior, but to her captor, and she wanted to scream. Oh how she wanted to scream, but her voice would not cooperate. Panic returned as her heart beat so fast it felt like it would burst from her chest, her head pounded worse than ever, and then, whether from pain or shock, her world faded to black once more.

...

This time she awoke slowly, blinking away rapidly at the harsh light. The first thing she noticed was that the pounding in her head had now dulled to nothing more than a small ache. But with that pain gone she was able to notice in just how bad of shape she was. Glancing down at her body she saw all the cuts and bruises that marred her skin. It looked as though someone had made an attempt to nurse her wounds, she was able to see a few bandages wrapped crudely around the places emitting the worst of the pain.

"Good morning sleeping beauty." The voice shocked her out of her silent analysis of her physical state. "Sleep well?"

She turned her head towards the voice, ignoring the soreness in her neck. " Who _are _you?"

He smiled at her, though the gesture didn't quite meet his eyes. "Dean Winchester. And seeing as I saved you from that hell hole, I think you owe me an introduction as well."

"I'm-um..." She racked her brain for an answer that seemed just out of reach.

"You remember, don't you?"

"I-I'm not exactly sure. It's-" She seemed to finally grasp at the word. "It's Clara! My name is Clara Oswald."

"Clara Oswald." Dean repeated the words, testing them out. "Well, Clara Oswald, that gets one question out of the way."

"I'm sorry, there's not much more I can say. My mind is sort of... wibbly wobbly."

"Wibbly wobbly?"

The word seemed to draw something from the very far recesses of her mind. Her head protested by sending out a sharp pain. She pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead, pushing hard.

Dean's eyes widened in concern. "Hey, hey, are you okay?"

"It's my head." She whispered, shutting her eyes against the pain.

"You should get some more sleep then." He moved to help her back into a more comfortable position, but she stopped him.

"I'm fine." It was no sooner than those words had left her mouth that she realized she was in fact not fine. A third person had entered the room and was carrying some greasy looking bag with a restaurant's name blazoned boldly on the front. He noticed Clara almost immediately, setting the bag down on a table next to the window and walking quickly over.

"You're awake!" She only stared at him, silent and wide eyed. It was starting to come back to her. The knife, the bodies, and the man standing over her, the same man that had stood over a dozen bloody corpses. She wanted to scream.

"Stay away from me." Somehow, Clara managed to get this out in the firmest voice she could muster. Both men looked taken aback, and Dean opened his mouth to protest. "Both of you, stay back! I remember now, what you did."

"What we did?" Dean said, incredulous. " What we did was save your life. They were torturing you in there."

Clara sat up in her bed, keeping both men in her sight. "You killed those people. There had to have been at least a dozen of them, and you just killed them. Innocent people-"

Sam interrupted her. "I think you're just misunderstanding-"

Dean cut him off, staring at Clara straight in her eyes. "They were demons Clara. Demons that not only tortured you, but killed who knows how many other people."

She stared at him incredulously. "Demons? Do you think I'm mad?"

Sam looked at her, pity evident in his expression, not wanting to tarnish what little innocence she still had after being tortured so ruthlessly. But keeping her in the dark could never be an option. Crowley needed her for a reason, and that reason would keep every creepy, nasty creature searching for her. Letting her rest in her ignorance would be like killing her. Sam glanced at Dean, trying to decide how to proceed. Finally, he settled on the only works he could find. "Of course not."

Dean, however, was not satisfied with Sam's carefully chosen words. "We're not lying to you. Everything that goes bump in the night; ghosts, vampires, demons, they're all real and they're all going to be coming after you. We're the best hope you have and you have to trust us. Me and Sam, we'll get you through this, keep you safe. You decide to leave and you'll be back in that torture chamber before the day is out."

Her eyes were wide with fear, but she remained speechless. She wanted to say something, tell them that it wasn't her who was mad, it was them. How could she believe them? But then again, how could she believe anything at the moment. She barely remembered her own name. Her mind was so messed up that anything, however ridiculous it sounded, could be the honest to God's truth. "Okay."

Sam attempted a comforting smile. "You trust us?"

"No, but what choice do I have? I don't remember anything. If I left, where would I go?"

Dean patter her knee, drawing a gasp of pain from Clara. "Good enough, how are you feeling?"

Both Sam and Clara looked at him incredulously. "Dean, look at her. How do you think she's feeling?"

He gave Clara a quick once over, her short frame bruised and battered as if it had been tossed around as needlessly as a rag doll. Every move she made on the motel bed looked strained and uncomfortable. She looked, to put it simply, like hell. "Right, um, stupid question."

Clara cracked the barest hint of a smile. "That's okay, I think I'll survive. Thanks to you, I suppose. I'm not sure what happened back there, which is probably for the best, but I'd probably be much worse off if it weren't for you two. So thanks."

"That's our job- part of the family business." Dean said, glancing over at his brother as if sharing some private joke.

The moment was cut short when a loud growl emanated from Clara's stomach, reminding her of the fact that she had no idea of the last time that she ate. Sam seemed to notice too, "Oh! Almost forgot, I picked up some food for us." He held up the greasy bag to emphasize his point, causing Clara to wrinkle her nose in an act of carefully masked disgust.

"Thanks, um..."

"Sam Winchester."

For the briefest of moments, the spark that had once caused an ancient, mad, and lonely god to whisk her away on countless adventures returned to Clara Oswald's eyes. She felt a glimmer of hope despite the hopeless situation. It was a return to her old self, the beginning of a long and tedious healing process. She may not have a single clue to her past or the reason that she had been granted this jarring twist of fate, but sitting with these two brothers, eating fast food, and beginning a new adventure, she realized that the aching in her head was starting to subside. For a moment, the memory of a strange man with a blue box did not fight to be at the forefront of her mind. This was page one of a new story, and on it was written two words.

"Thanks Sam."

**I'm going to be starting school again next week and therefore don't know when I'll be able to get the next chapter up. But that being said, reviews and feedback certainly speed up the writing process. Thank you so much for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed or put this story on their alerts! It really means a lot to get feedback and inspires me to write more. I've decided to update every Friday, but with NaNoWriMo coming up, I can't promise that this plan will stick through November. **

**Also, just like to let everybody know that I have a tumblr ( .com)where I will do more up to date news and maybe some previews of chapters. If you want to, you can follow me there and shoot me an ask telling me that you came from fanfiction. I thought it might be a good idea, but if you don't want to that's all cool too. **

_"Run you clever boy, and remember,"_

_A bright blue box whizzed across her memory. A man with a bow tie, smiling, crying, dying. Always there. In the crowded marketplace, standing before a dying star, holding her hand. He was running. He was catching her as she fell, her heart beating fast with fear. He was spinning around some kind of consul, pushing buttons, pulling levers._

_"It's not a ghost story. It's a love story."_

_She was living. She was dying. But he was always there, right by her side. Who was he? Why had he abandoned her, leaving her to be tortured by God knows who? He goes by the name of the Doctor, but Doctor who?_

...

She woke with a start, already the names and faces from her dreams were fading away and once again leaving the blank slate she had become so familiar with. Her head had once again taken about the steady pounding against her skull as repressed memories fought fruitlessly to be brought forth.

"You okay, Clara?"

It was Sam, sitting next to his brother in the front seat of a car. He had turned around to face Clara who was sitting in the back with her head pressed against the window. Now she remembered; they were going to take her to a friend's house. She recalls the name Bobby and assumes that's the friend they were talking about.

She waves off the concern. "Yeah, fine." Her lips are pursed together tightly, braced against the pain. Sam seems to notice this. "It's just... it's my head. Every time I get close to remembering, the pain comes back."

Dean took the opportunity to swoop into the conversation. "Don't try to remember. You never know what dirty secrets might be lurking there. I wouldn't scratch the wall."

Something about his final sentence suggested a double meaning, and Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was fine.

...

Wednesdays were the best day of the week in the Doctor's opinion. Even better than Saturdays, certainly better than Sundays, and much more exciting than every other day of the week. It was hard to tame the slight skip in his step as he strode jovially out of the TARDIS. But he stopped short upon seeing the scene laid out before him. Though the house was quiet, it was blocked off by heavy police barriers. There was a single policeman leaning against his car and lazily talking on his radio. Something horrible had happened here, and it made his blood run cold.

He tried to ignore the way his heart sped up at the thought of what this could mean. Clara could be hurt. He had always known how fragile every relationship with his companions was. They were so wonderfully, beautifully, tragically human, and so easily torn away from him. No. Not Clara. She was his impossible girl. She had to be alright. She had to. He needed to see inside. He needed to know what had happened.

He strode over to the lone policeman, trying to convey an air of confidence and professionalism, though inside he was more scared than he had been in a very long time.

The man had spotted the Doctor almost instantly. After all, it was hard to miss the strange man in the bow tie walking towards him like some type of drunken giraffe. "You there! What do you want? This is a closed crime scene."

The Doctor attempted a small smile of greeting while simultaneously fishing around in his "bigger on the inside" pockets. "Ah, yes, yes, of course." He found what he was looking for and whipped out his psychic paper with a flourish. "Inspector Lestrade with the Scotland Yard. I'm going to need to take a look around."

The man quirked an eyebrow and took the paper from the Doctor, studying it carefully. He seemed reluctant but finally gave in. "Yes, of course. Go right ahead."

"Do you mind telling me what happened here, sir?"

The man's eyebrow rose even higher. "Weren't you given all the information you needed to know?"

"Well, I suppose I was. But, um, you see, I have a very poor memory and never wrote it down. Would you care to refresh?"

"It's a missing persons case. A girl, the nanny if I recall correctly, was taken from the house about a week ago. The family was pretty shaken up about it, especially the boy. Keeps giving reports about black eyed monsters and demons. The younger girl and the father sustained mild head injuries and a few scrapes but are otherwise unharmed."

It was as if all the air had been slowly squeezed out of him, as the man's account confirmed his worst fear word by word. Clara was taken. She was taken when he had not been there to protect her. A thousand years of guilt pressed down on him and he tried not to let it show on his face. "What else? Do you know who could have done this? Tell me who did this."

The Doctor could see the man's patience wearing thin. "None. There are no signs of forced entry, no sightings by neighbors. It's as if the attackers simply teleported straight into the house and left without a trace. But you should know this. It's been all over the news."

"Of course it has, but, um, bad memory and all that. Thank you sir, I'll be leaving you now."

The policeman gave a half- hearted grunt in dismissal and turned back to his radio, allowing the Doctor free entrance inside. He pushed open the door quietly and entered the now familiar house. He half expected everything to return to normal. He waited to see Angie or Artie throw the door open and usher him inside. He waited to be called Clara's boyfriend and see Clara, just coming around the corner, blush scarlet at the accusation. He waited, and waited, and waited. But, of course, there was nothing.

The house had been destroyed. Picture frames, vases, plates, all crashed to the ground and broken into several pieces. Chairs and tables were flipped over. Curtains ripped, windows smashed; everything was destroyed. He couldn't ignore his rise in heart rate any longer, not when he saw the blood that had splattered and smeared across walls, across cabinets, across windows, and that was trailed up the stairs. It spoke volumes of horror he was sure had been endured here.

He stumbled up the stairs, attempting to them two at a time, and fearing what he would find. He started checking rooms, closets, anywhere that could possibly give a clue as to what happened here. But he could find nothing.

It wasn't until the Doctor was walking into Clara's bedroom when he found his first glimmer of hope. He stepped carefully over the different articles of clothing, broken perfume bottles, a couple of stuffed animals. Clara never really had been one to give up without a fight, he noted with a small smirk. Careful not to disturb the ransacked room, though he was sure Clara wouldn't mind, he made it to the windowsill. A fine, pale yellow powder had settled there.

He dipped his finger in and brought it to his mouth, trying to identify the substance. Almost immediately, his face twisted up in disgust and started rubbing at his tongue viciously. Sulfur. The room was coated in sulfur.

**Thanks for reading! I'd like to leave you guys with a shoutout to my awesome beta someenchantedsunset. She's super awesome and has helped me so much! **


End file.
